


J4SK13R

by KHansen



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Future, Android Jaskier | Dandelion, BAMF Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, BAMF Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cyberpunk AU, Easter Eggs to Other Fics, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Misuse of Coding Language, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Not Cyberpunk 2077 tho, fuck capitalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25970653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHansen/pseuds/KHansen
Summary: Geralt is a scrapper. He finds broken machines, strips them for parts, and sells them to the highest bidder. So why does he feel such a strange pull to the broken android he finds in the garbage? When he checks its memory files, he finds the beginnings of the biggest, and deadliest, conspiracy he's ever been privy to, and now he needs this android's help in putting the puzzle pieces together and stopping the deaths of 45% of the universe.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 41
Kudos: 281
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #006





	J4SK13R

**Author's Note:**

> This was started in response to this week's prompt for [The Witcher Flash Fiction Challenge](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TWFF006), but I exceeded the word limit so I decided to post separately.

“⏃⋏⎅ ⌇⏁⏃⊬ ⍜⎍⏁!”

Geralt is thrown to the putrid ground, his hands sinking into damp sacks of garbage and releasing the rancid scents of rotting food and vomit into the air. He gags and the door to the club slams shut with a whoosh, muffling the thumping electronic bass from the dance floor. His damaged translator crackles to life, far too late for any sort of conversation.

_ “And stay out!” _

“This is your fault,” he grumbles at it, unclipping the metal half sphere from his belt and raising it to his eyes to peer at the significant dent in it. The translator doesn’t respond, as it’s not sentient by any means, and he sighs. It’s not his fault the woman didn’t understand him, the busted translator was so slow to reply and picking up on all the dialects around them that  _ it _ told her she was stupid and ugly. And how was he to know that she had friends? Big friends, too. Geralt tucks the translator in his coat pocket and slowly gets to his feet.

A single blue eye peers at him from the dumpster.

“Fuck!” Geralt shouts and stumbles back, raising his fists instinctively and ignoring the already split skin along his knuckles. He can use a neospray when he gets back to Roach, right now he’s being stared down by a silent entity within an overly full dumpster. His racing heart eases and he takes a deep breath as he creeps closer again, the neon light of an advert casting a pink glow through the back alley. 

He pushes a few limp strands of hair out of his face before lifting the lid to the dumpster, inhaling sharply at what he finds inside.

Silver metal, tarnished with grease and trash and time, gleams dully in the neon. It’s a hand, made up of silver plates that should shift and detach for maintenance but instead is motionless and still as it protrudes from beneath the garbage. Heedless of intensifying the stench in the alley, Geralt shoves the sacks out of the way and uncovers a badly damaged android. Its torso is clothed in the rags of what used to be a red shirt and just scraps of black pants stick to its legs.

The android has one arm hanging by the wiring, coolant lines burst and leaking the blue liquid into the trash beneath it. There’s dents and scratches and chips in the metal plating of its chest and stomach, and the strands of LED that would illuminate along the android’s body in a tantalizing glow are shattered. The fingers of its opposite hand are broken and missing, the exposed wire sparking dangerously as the android’s backup processor tries again and again to power back on.

It’s not going to be able to. Its head is bashed in on one side, dented deep enough to have nearly shattered the motherboard and damaged the core processing unit held within the housing of its head. Only one of its electric blue eyes remains, the eye socket of the other sits empty and the optic cables are shredded like someone ripped the part out. The jaw is also bent down, the hinge broken and the metal separated between the upper and lower plates of its cheeks, revealing missing teeth and a plastic tongue. Midnight blue, synthetic hair curves across the forehead of the android, brushing the eyebrow of its remaining eye that glows slightly with the phosphorescent liquid used in iris components.

“Shame,” Geralt murmurs, and then carefully hoists the broken android out of the dumpster. It’s lighter than he expected, but he supposes it has to be the weight of an average human to fulfill its programming without injuring anybody. It looks like a high-quality bot, too, probably one of the newest models of the J00L14N Entertainment Androids. These things cost a fortune, and to find one almost completely destroyed and discarded is both unusual and depressing. 

Geralt runs the serial number of the droid when he gets back on board his Steeds of Steel brand personal spacecraft, model number R04C1-1. She was a used piece of shit, aged and rusted to the point of being an almost bay color, and wouldn’t even start up when he bought her for the low price of 50 units. But he fixed the old girl up and dubbed her Roach, and now she runs like a charm.

As he waits, he carefully arranges the limbs of the android on his workbench and cuts away the ribbons of cloth that are dutifully clinging to it. With a hum of dissatisfaction, Geralt opens up the chest cavity, using his laser spanner to pop out the metal chestplate. The electronics inside seem to be in fine condition, despite the poor state of the android, and he searches for its black box. His on board computer whistles just as he locates it, detaching the cables and bringing the memory drive to the other end of his station.

It is a J00L14N, like he thought, and it’s top of the line. Its serial number claims it was just manufactured two cycles ago, which doesn’t make sense at all. How could something so expensive and high-end be damaged to this extent if it’s so new? Geralt frowns as he plugs in the memory drive to his computer, pulling up his desk chair and accessing the files on the harddrive.

They start out simple enough: the J00L14N’s first start up, test cycles, and updates to its software. Geralt whistles, impressed, as the purchaser of the bot is none other than Oxenfurt Enterprises, an entertainment powerhouse known for creating popular vocaloids. He glances over at the droid and wonders which of the many pop sensations he’s a facet of; after all, they replace the bodies of their vocaloids frequently to allow other celebrities and business moguls to rent them for private concerts. 

Jorgan Pankratz, a multi-trillionaire pharma CEO from the Milky Way, is one such person. Geralt watches various orgies and parties that Jorgan hosted and hired the android to sing for with a clinical eye, searching for any time damage would be done to it. It’s kept in perfect condition, not a hand laid on it as far as he can tell, but the memory files continue to get stranger and stranger.

Overheard conversations, whispered names, a paper  _ journal _ of all things filled with scribbled handwriting of formulas and notes. No one’s used paper in at least two millenia, so why would Jorgan Pankratz have some? 

Geralt clicks on the next file and a pop-up window appears: ACCESS DENIED.

He frowns and clicks on it again. ACCESS DENIED. How can his access be denied? He unencrypted the black box when he hooked it up. He pulls up the code editor and searches through it for the encryption on the drive and his frown deepens when he sees that it  _ is _ unencrypted. He tries clicking the memory file after the barred one. ACCESS DENIED.

Geralt hums thoughtfully and pulls up the code editor on the files specifically and his eyes widen at the intricate encryption done on them. Customized so thoroughly that Geralt has no chance of breaking it; he’s a glorified mechanic not a code breaker, so the files are inaccessible to anyone but the owner of them. He sits back in his chair with a sigh, crossing his arms as he thinks while his eyes slide to the android on the workbench.

No one  _ knows _ that he has the droid. He hasn’t told any of his buyers of the potential components he’d pull from it. Hell, he hasn’t even run diagnostics on it yet, so his idea could be completely implausible. And yet… Geralt wants to know what’s in those memory files. It wouldn’t hurt to just… fix the core processor, would it? He doesn’t need to repair the entire android, just the bits that are required to run its internal mechanisms and unencrypt the memory files for him when he uploads protocols for it to obey him. Then, he can pawn it off to someone who might actually fix the poor thing and his curiosity will be sated.

He’d be missing out on a hefty payday, but he can live without the extra units.

Mind made up, Geralt removes the memory drive and slides his chair over to his workbench, using the spanner to pop open the top of the android’s cranium. It takes some manhandling to do it, and he ends up with several of those dark blue strands of hair stuck to his clothing, but he’s able to remove the damaged piece to get access to the core processor. Using a flashlight to peer inside, Geralt sucks in a breath at the damage. It’s going to take some finagling to get the processor out without breaking it more, but hopefully it won’t take too long.

It takes him nearly two hours.

Using careful fingers and delicate touch, Geralt pulls the core processor from the housing unit and sets it on an open part of his station. He had to disconnect numerous wires, marking each of them with a piece of tape so that he would remember where their connectors were on the processor, and then also get the entire thing out without jostling the dented part of the skull or cracking any of the boards more. But he’s done it, and now he can take a look at the damage itself.

It appears to have some cracks running through the circuit boards, and some of the receivers are fried from neurons firing too quickly, but otherwise it isn’t going to be too difficult to fix. Just some solder for the boards to repair the ribbons that are within the plastic and replacement pieces for the receivers. In theory, when he reconnects the processor, the android should be able to power up again.

Thankfully, Geralt doesn’t need to make a special run for parts and he’s able to repair the processor to the best of his ability within a few more hours. He reconnects it, plugs a charging cable into the access port on the android’s battery to give it power, and then presses the startup button on the side of its neck. With bated breath, Geralt sits back and waits.

The button flashes before a blue light runs around it in a ring. Geralt quietly fist pumps at his success, the startup sequence has begun and soon he should be able to talk to the android. Given that its microphones aren’t broken and the speaker at the back of its throat is still functional. A tinkling chime comes from the perpetually open mouth as the speaker plays the Continent Intergalactic jingle. Even in purchasing a product, no one is free from the advertisements that plague the universe.

Any bulbs or lights that still function light up on the android, the ones running along his torso sparking and flashing slightly from their housing being shattered. Machinery whirs almost silently as the android runs diagnostics, and Geralt holds his breath.

“What the  _ fuck?” _

He blinks in surprise. He thought entertainment droids had protocols against swearing, their extremely basic AI disallowing any foul language or individual thoughts. After all, they’re often just glorified sex dolls with over ten thousand unique phrases to please even the most prudish of people. Or at least that’s what their adverts say. Geralt’s brought out of his musings as the eye of the android shifts towards him.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Geralt raises his eyebrows, “Geralt of Rivia.”

There’s a pause before the android speaks, “I’m not on Earth, am I? Fuck, I’m not up to date on my data for Earth.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “You’re still on ☊⏃⌿⟟⏁⏃⌰⟟⌇⏁ ⊑⟒⌰⌰.” Geralt winces slightly at the garbled pronunciation of the alien language, so bad that even his busted translator doesn’t pick up on what he’s saying. The android seems to understand though.

“Why can’t I move? What have you done to me?” Its smooth voice sounds almost panicked, and Geralt wonders if it has an emotion drive. That would be concerning, he didn’t think many androids had emotion drivers unless they were custom made. And if it’s a custom made android then he’s fucked, someone will want it back.

“I haven’t done anything. I found you like this.”

“Like what? Come on, mate, talk to me!”

He’s surprised by the clearly Keracki accent of the droid. A dialect that hasn’t been seen in almost two thousand years, not since the entire coastline of the Continent sunk into the sea on Earth. Geralt tilts his head slightly and decides to change the subject, “What’s your name?”

The bot splutters and some of the face plates twitch. Interesting. Geralt left the motor disconnected from the core processor so that the android wouldn’t damage itself further by moving, but it seems there’s a backup processor somewhere. This truly  _ is _ an advanced piece of machinery and Geralt’s intrigue to learn more of the story is joined by his interest in the android itself. 

Under the damage and dings and dents, he can tell that the android was designed to be quite handsome too. With a strong jaw and soft cheeks, swoopy hair and a bright eye beneath a high brow and above sharp, simulated cheekbones, the android would ordinarily be very attractive. Even the silver of its metal skin wouldn’t be a deterrent, only adding to the appeal of its body.

“I’m a Bard Jaskier vocaloid,” the android finally says, after making outraged noises for a few moments. Geralt’s heard of Bard Jaskiers before, his little cousin is obsessed with the vocaloid and he knows her mother is saving up to rent one for Ciri’s next birthday. Geralt hums slightly at the new information, he’s not much of a fan of the peppy, mass-produced music of most vocaloids, and a Bard Jaskier is no different.

Its eye is shifting around, dented faceplates jingling and clanking as they bump together, while the android slowly regains power in each limb and it gives off the effect of the android being nervous. Geralt feels pity for it and clears his throat, “Found you in a dumpster. Dunno why, but you’re beat to shit. I’m not sure anyone can fix you, to be honest.”

The Bard Jaskier’s single eye shoots over to him again, the metal eyelid rising in an approximation of shock and the faceplate of his eyebrow shudders and whines. “Then why the fuck have you turned me back on again? If I’m beyond repair, I should be allowed an honorable death.”

“You were in a dumpster.”

“I stand by what I said.”

“In an alley.”

“I’d rather be there than running on 12% of my processing unit!”

“Covered in shit. Still are actually.”

“...Like,  _ real _ feces?”

Geralt shrugs, “Maybe. Smelled rank back there, though, whatever it was in those garbage bags.”

The Bard Jaskier is silent for a few moments before begrudgingly admitting, “Alright, then maybe it’s best that you brought me here.  _ Now _ , I can die an honorable death.”

“You’re laid out on my workbench like a flayed piece of meat.”

“For fuck’s sake, Geralt of Rivia! Let me have my poetic dignity!”

Geralt raises a single eyebrow at it, “It’s just Geralt. And where would you have gotten that? You sing regurgitated garbage made by programs that fit as many adverts into your songs as they possibly can. It’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling.”

Its cheek plates grind against one another and Geralt gets the feeling that it’s trying to frown at him. “Well, you needn’t put it so bluntly. Not like I’ve much choice in what garbage I perform.”

“Anyway,” Geralt looks away a bit uncomfortably, “I turned you back on so you can unencrypt your memory files.”

“What do you need those for?”

Fuck. Geralt hadn’t thought he was going to be questioned by the android and now he has to come up with a good reason as to why, exactly, he wants to see the Bard Jaskier’s memory files. He grunts and leans back in his chair again, folding his arms over his chest, “Wanted to.” Nailed it.

The android blinks at him, “You… want me to unencrypt my memory files for you… because you just want to  _ watch them?” _

“Mhm.”

“No!”

“Hmm,” Geralt frowns at it. He’s  _ really _ interested in what the android has on those files. And Yennefer would kill to know too, she’s always looking for… what does she call it? It’s an old Earth slang term. The tea? “What do you want?”

“To die.”

“Other than that,” he huffs, “I don’t know what an android would want in exchange for its memories.”

“Firstly, I am a  _ he _ , perhaps a _they,_ but not an  _ it _ , thank you very much,” the Bard Jaskier makes a sniffing sound, despite not having lungs, “And second, I suppose you could repair me. Fully.”

“Hm, I’m not gonna do that,” Geralt disagrees. He hesitates then. It can’t hurt to indulge the android a little bit and then he gets what he wants too, “But I’ll see if I can’t find the parts to replace your face plates and jaw.”

The Bard Jaskier looks at him silently for a long moment before agreeing, “Fine. If you repair my lovely face I’ll unencrypt some files for you.”

“Deal. I’d shake your hand but…”

“Hey! My diagnostics tell me I’ve got one good one still. Look!”

“That was rude.”

“Well, I don’t like you.”

“Believe me, the feeling is mutual.”

* * *

The speaker over the shop door blares an ugly, distorted ding of a bell as Geralt walks across the threshold, and a moment later there’s the kiss of a spanner against his jugular. He calmly puts his hands up with a sigh, rolling his eyes to look at the person threatening him. Raven hair is tied up in a severe bun with strands framing an olive face. One of the few other humans on ☊⏃⌿⟟⏁⏃⌰⟟⌇⏁ ⊑⟒⌰⌰, Yennefer runs a parts shop and frequently buys from Geralt. She also hates him and is his best friend.

“I thought I told you to stay the fuck out of my store,” she hisses, “After you tried to sell me one of your shitty voice drives as a reproduction upgrade.”

“You did,” he agrees genially, “And now I’m back. I’m looking for some parts.”

There’s a beat before she moves the spanner away from his throat, tucking it into her toolbelt, “What kind of parts?” She doesn’t want to seem interested, her voice flat and emotionless, but her violet eyes are curious.

“The face plates and jaw hinge of a J00L14N. Model number J4SK13R.”

“A Bard Jaskier?” she raises her eyebrows, “How in the seven hells did you get your hands on one of those?”

“Found him. He’s broken.”

“ _ He?” _

“Mhm.”

“You’ve spoken to it?” Yennefer crosses her arms, her eyes narrowed at him, “Those things spout political bullshit and adverts out of the wazoo. Why, for the love of all things sane, have you turned it on?”

He doesn’t want to tell her, but it might be the only way to get the parts. “He has encrypted memory files that I want to look at.” He doesn’t want to tell her about what might be on the drive before he’s sure himself, then he can… uh,  _ spill the tea _ as Yennefer likes to say, in one fell swoop. Hopefully knock her on her ass.

“So, unencrypt them.”

“Can’t,” he shakes his head, digging his hands into the pockets of his large overcoat, “Too complicated. I can break simple encryptions, not whatever the fuck he did to those files.”

She hums as she appraises him, thinking hard about what he’s told her. He can tell that she’s figured out he doesn’t want to go too into detail with what he shares, but her curiosity isn’t fully sated yet either. She wants to know more about these mysterious memory files too. 

Geralt sighs, “If you help me get the parts, I’ll show you the files once they’re unencrypted. The Jaskier is making demands. Fix his face in exchange for the undoing of the encryption.”

“Fine,” she agrees, “I might have some of what you’re looking for in the back. I don’t get many J00L14N parts, and especially not for a J4SK. Those things are rare.”

“I’ll take whatever you’ve got and can find the rest elsewhere,” he agrees in relief. Truth be told, he’s not sure why he’s so incredibly invested in this. It just tickles his curiosity. He wants to know what the whispered conversations and the paper journal of formulas and the slipped names are for. He wants to know why this Bard Jaskier was so thoroughly destroyed to the point of being unable to power back on. 

He watches Yennefer go into the storage room as he rocks back on his heels and looks around her small store. It’s a bit dingy, impossible not to be with metal shavings flying off of used parts as she polishes them, the pale concrete floor stained gray with it. Revolving racks line the walls, the swinging buckets on them filled with different bits and bobs, and fairy lights from Earth wind around the frames of the displays. All the good stuff is in the back, though. 

She re-emerges carrying a small box and drops it on the counter, the contents clanking together, “Come take a look. This is all the J00L14N face parts I’ve got. Most of it should be usable for your Jaskier, I believe they’re backwards compatible with older components from their series.”

Geralt grunts in agreement and moves closer, peering into the box at the small metal face plates that fill the box. He goes through them, one-by-one, checking the part numbers on the backs of them against the schematics on his holotab. Thankfully, he’s able to find everything, including a jaw piece that’s definitely seen better days, so he piles the parts together and looks up at her.

“What do I owe you?”

“400 units.”

“ _ 400- _ I’m not paying you that. These are worth 200,  _ maybe.” _

“400,” she repeats stubbornly, “Take it or leave it.”

“This is extortion!”

“You’ll get price-gouged even worse anywhere else.” She’s right of course but he doesn’t want to tell her that, “400. And I’ll even throw in a new translator. Gods know that one’s useless to you.” She nods at the busted device on his belt and he glowers at her.

“Fine.” He punches aggressively at his holotab and it chimes as it transfers the units to her, “400 units.”

She ducks beneath the counter and then slides a new translator to him as he collects his parts for the android, tucking them into his pockets. “Pleasure doing business with you, Geralt.”

“Yeah, yeah. One of these days I’m going to find a new contact,” he grumbles, and they both know he doesn’t mean it. Yennefer leans across the counter and condescendingly pats his arm anyway.

“I’m sure you will, big guy. Now get the hell out of my store before I gut you.”

He nods and takes his leave, the metal jangling in his pockets as he walks back across the city to where Roach is parked. That stupid fucking android, why couldn’t he just have made it easy for Geralt and unencrypted the files when asked? But  _ no, _ he has to bargain and barter with the damned thing and spend 400 units on just his faceplates alone. Imagine how much it would cost to repair the whole droid! And it’s not like Oxenfurt’s going to do it, they’ve probably already replaced him. 

Geralt frowns slightly, watching his feet with each step on the sidewalk as he thinks. He can’t imagine living a life  _ knowing _ he was expendable. Easily replaced if even one thing goes wrong, having to maintain complete perfection at all times. Even machines have errors, and computers even more so with all that code they’re constantly running. AI are difficult to create, and even harder to maintain as they have error codes so frequently. It seems, though, like Jaskier has the capability to run his own code, if the encryption is any indication, and that’s something different.

The door to Roach slides open as he approaches and he steps aboard with a sigh, “Alright. I’ve got your stupid face plates so we can fix… what the fuck are you doing?”

The Jaskier is holding one of Geralt’s spanners, using it to fuck with his broken hand and the plates of the finger components are scattered on the floor like scales. He looks up in surprise, his single eye widening as he practically hurls the spanner away from himself. Like that would make Geralt think he hadn’t just been using it.

A pause. “My hand hurts,” the Jaskier says simply.

Geralt blinks, “It… it hurts?”

“Yes. So I thought I ought to try and fix it. Or at the very least, find the problem and disconnect the central processor from it. Sure, it would mean I wouldn’t be able to use my hand at all anymore, but it’s better than having my pain driver take up so much of my RAM.”

“Wait, wait,” he walks closer, picking up the tossed spanner as he does, “You can feel  _ pain _ ?”

“Uh, yeah. Obviously,” he rolls his eye, “You’re very slow, Geralt. I can’t imagine how you fix other androids if you’re this dense. We’ve had pain drives for decades now, they’re one of the base functions. It’s how we know to run diagnostics if we get damaged, and not just when we start up.”

Geralt is feeling increasingly discomforted, “So were you… I mean did you feel when I…”

“Took out my core processing unit? No. But I can feel that you haven’t reconnected it properly, and I’m aware that the entire top of my head is missing,” Jaskier deadpans, giving Geralt as judgemental a look as a robot with a stuck open jaw and barely mobile face can, “I mean really, you couldn’t have closed me back up again? No regard for my agency.”

“I didn’t think…” Geralt protests as he slowly starts to empty his pockets onto the workbench, “I didn’t think it would matter, really. An android’s an android, brain inside or out.”

“Mm, yes, well. I prefer all my bits and bobs being  _ inside _ me. Unfortunately, due to the severe damage to my head, I’m unable to put the core processor back in. I imagine it took some fine detail work in order for you to get it out in the first place.”

Geralt nods in confirmation, pushing Jaskier’s head back to rest on the workbench as he starts to remove face plates, “It did. And I’m going to fix your face and head so it can be put back in. Well, just your face for today.”

Jaskier’s eye widens in surprise, “You’re going to fix my head, too?”

He hums and falls silent as he works, the plates popping off with ease unless they’re particularly damaged. Thankfully, the motors beneath them seem to be in fine condition, the plates having done their secondary job of protecting internal mechanisms, and he’s able to just attach the new ones. The jaw takes a bit of work to get off, but once he’s removed it the new one slots into the hinges with only a little bit of shoving. He’s not going to try to straighten out the hinges though, he could damage Jaskier more.

“Alright,” he sits back once he’s done, “You’re not as shiny as before, the parts were used and repolished to the best of Yen’s ability, but you should be able to emote now. Give it a try.”

Jaskier glances at him before running a test cycle, each plate moving independently first before they all shift in tandem and run through various expressions. The jaw squeaks a little from the grinding in the hinges, and some of the plates are darker in color than others, but ultimately the Jaskier is facially functional again. He blinks and the plates shift into a grin, showing off his remaining plastic teeth. Geralt didn’t replace those because plastic is hard to come by and needs to be custom ordered, but he might now, solely because the smile Jaskier gives him is so big and bright that Geralt would love to see it in its full glory.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says, his jaw moving with the words and his faceplates shifting to shape them on his metal lips, “You have no idea how much of a relief this is for me. Makes me feel like a person again.”

Geralt hums, breaking out of his mild trance as he clears his throat, “Sure. Now you need to keep up your half of the bargain.”

“Of course, I am nothing if not a man of my word,” Jaskier nods and reaches into his chest cavity, pulling out the memory drive again and passing it to Geralt, “I’ve backed up all of my memories to my main harddrive so you can keep that until I get a new black box.”

Geralt takes the box and sits down at his computer, plugging it back in again and finding the files that had denied him access before. He clicks on the first one, waiting as it loads and sighing softly as no warning pop-up appears. The video memory opens and Geralt watches with an increasingly concerned frown as Jaskier performs at another private party for Jorgan Pankratz.

_ Jaskier finishes his performance, the pop music fading out on the last song, before he leaves his stage and goes to the restroom. An unnecessary detour for an android and it’s with narrowed eyes that Geralt watches him enter the bathroom and go into a stall, closing the door and climbing up onto the rim of the toilet to hide his feet. A few minutes later, the door opens again and more men come in. _

_ “And you’ve completed it?” the first one asks, his voice deep and gravelly. _

_ “I have,” Jorgan Pankratz replies, sounding smug, “We just need to release it and then people will be buying our vaccines.” _

_ “How many will die?” _

_ “There’s a 45% mortality rate, but it’s a small price to pay for another few billion. It’s for the betterment of the company, Irion! This will put Pankratz Intergalactic back on top and push Morhen Pharmaceuticals back down to where they belong.” _

_ “I don’t see why we don’t just kill Vesemir.” _

_ “Too messy. It’s much easier to claim no responsibility when it’s a virus killing everyone.” _

The memory ends and Geralt immediately clicks on the next one with wide eyes. ACCESS DENIED. 

“What the fuck?” Geralt scowls, looking over at Jaskier who is fiddling with something in his chest cavity, “What the fuck is your problem? We had a deal, you stupid fucking android.”

“Yes, you’d fix my face and I’d undo the encryption on some files,” Jaskier replies breezily, “We never specified which files, though, so I unencrypted one of my memories and then several inhibiting protocols.”

Geralt pauses, his ire reduced temporarily, “Your inhibiting protocols? What do they do?”

“Oh, you know. Stops me from being able to make decisions and perform actions that don’t adhere to whatever primary directive Oxenfurt is piping to me now,” he shrugs, his detached arm chunking as the disks slip against each other without raising anything. 

“You can’t ignore them otherwise?”

Jaskier glances up at him, leveling him with a sober look, “I’m just a machine to most people, Geralt. Nothing more, nothing less. Even you called me a stupid fucking android, just a minute ago. It’s alright, I understand, but I’ve been more than just a robot for some time now.”

Geralt presses his lips together, leaning back into his chair with a frown. He doesn’t get the opportunity to speak with many advanced androids, and he hadn’t realized quite how progressive the industry was in creating them. Especially the vocaloids, like Jaskier, what with having a pain drive and clearly an emotion drive. It’s no excuse, though, for the way he’s been treating the droid, and he ought to try harder to give Jaskier the respect he deserves. He wonders how Jaskier’s able to alter his own programming, however. Most droids are prohibited from accessing their own hard drives and software.

“If I fix your arm, will you allow me to see another memory?”

Jaskier looks up at him in surprise, “You’d do that?”

“Hm.” Geralt nods, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, “I… What was going on? With Jorgan.”

The android looks away again, looking uncomfortable, “I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Can’t. Before I was…” he gestures to his own broken body, “My IP was hacked. There are protocols in place that aren’t from Oxenfurt, and that I didn’t make for myself. I can barely access my own memories from the encryption I put on them, and I don’t remember why I put an encryption at all.”

Geralt gets to his feet, walking over to Jaskier and gently turning the android’s face to look at the dent in his skull, “I’ll get you a new cranium piece as well. No reason for you to be dented like that, and then we can put your core processor back in.” 

His thumb and forefinger pinch the android’s chin, and Jaskier’s synthetic tongue darts out to lick his lips, leaving them glossy with a thin layer of oil, “Thank you, Geralt,” he says quietly. 

Geralt’s eyes are pulled to the movement, but he looks away again quickly, stepping back from the workbench and shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “I can’t go tonight to get the parts you need,” he says gruffly, keeping his eyes on the wall behind Jaskier, “it’s too late. Yen will be closed and even if I order them, they won’t arrive fast enough.”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods, fiddling with one of the finger plates he popped off, “I still appreciate you putting in the time to repair me. I would offer you money but… well, I haven’t figured out a way to hack into Oxenfurt’s payroll just yet.”

His lips twitch as he looks down at the android’s one blue eye. He’s going to find Jaskier a second one, now that the socket isn’t dented anymore and an optical component will fit in there again. It might not be blue, but hopefully Jaskier won’t mind.

“I’ll put it on your tab.”

“Then, goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

* * *

The following day, Geralt returns to Yen’s shop. And finds himself at the business end of her spanner yet again as she scowls at him. Her hair is loose today, curling around her face and cascading over her shoulders, and he would think her irresistibly beautiful if they hadn’t already tried to be together. Needless to say, it didn’t quite work out in their favor so he now thinks she’s resistibly beautiful.

“I told you to stay gone, Geralt.”

“You say that every time, Yen,” he points out, “You’re like the little girl who cried wolf. How am I to know when you actually mean it or not?”

Her scowl deepens, “What the fuck are you doing back already?”

“I need more J00L14N parts. Particularly, I require shoulder components, hand components, and a cranium cap.”

“It’ll cost you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

She sighs and lowers the spanner, already heading for the back room, “So, did you find anything out on its memory drive?”

Geralt glances at the door, and then around the small shop to ensure that they’re in private. His eyes land on the security cameras behind the desk and his jaw tightens, “Is that on?”

Yennefer follows his gaze, “I don’t think so. It’s been here since before I had the space and I can’t get it out of the wall. As far as I can tell, though, it’s just for show. Nonfunctional.”

“Good.”

“Why?” She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, “You’re not going to try to rob me, are you? You know that a fake camera means shit, my optic implants record everything I see.”

He rolls his eyes, walking to the counter and leaning his forearms atop it, “I’m not going to rob you. It’s just… the memory files are sensitive information.”

“Ooh, sensitive information?” her voice floats from the back room teasingly, “What are you, a Witcher? One of those intergalactic agents?”

He hums, “I’m going to ignore that. Anyway, you already know he’s a J4SK13R, a Bard Jaskier vocaloid. Well, apparently, a certain Jorgan Pankratz is very keen on them, and would hire Jaskier a lot for his parties.”

“Jorgan Pankratz? As in CEO of Pankratz Intergalactic, multi-trillionaire Jorgan Pankratz?” 

“The very same. Jaskier has footage on his memory drives of shady activity, and his AI is advanced enough that he became suspicious of what he was seeing. So he snuck into the bathroom and overheard a conversation between Pankratz and his right hand, Stregobor. Sounds like they’re creating a bioweapon, a virus of some sort, to boost their own sales and blow Morhen Pharmaceuticals out of the water.”

“How did your android become so busted, then?”

“I don’t know. I suspect that someone became aware of his knowledge of it, because he told me his IP was hacked and he has a protocol in place that he didn’t put there himself. It stops him from being able to discuss the encrypted files of his memory. He encrypted them so heavily that he can’t even access the files himself, either. Only unencrypt them or leave them be.”

“Huh,” she comes back out with a much larger box of parts this time, “Seems like foul play. And it sounds like you’re becoming unusually invested in this. Are you sure it’s just curiosity anymore?”

Geralt feels suddenly defensive as his cheeks turn red, “Yes, of course. What are you implying?”

“Nothing,” she shrugs, pushing the box across the counter to him, “I’ve just never seen you fix anything before. Properly, I mean. Beyond the level of repair required to just access specific things like a memory drive.”

“He didn’t unencrypt all of his files after I fixed his face,” Geralt mutters as he turns on his holotab and pulls up Jaskier’s schematics, checking the compatible part numbers against the components in the box, “So, in order to learn more, I’ve offered to fix his arm and the rest of his head.” He looks up at her, holding up an optic component, “Is this the only eye you’ve got?”

“That’s compatible with a J00L14N? Yes.”

He hums, looking at the almost neon green iris. He then places it in his growing pile of parts with a small shrug. He’s fixing Jaskier, isn’t he? It shouldn’t matter what color the replacement parts are. If the android cares so much, then he can get it replaced himself when he eventually has access to units again. He wonders if Jaskier actually can hack things like Oxenfurt’s payroll. It would explain how he’s able to alter his own protocols and directives.

“Alright, how much is my account going to cry today?” Geralt asks as he finds the last part he needs.

“900.”

He opens his mouth to argue before stopping and sighing. It’s probably that damn optic component jacking up the price, as the rest are all just base plates. Even the cranium cap, which has the same midnight blue hair Jaskier has currently, wouldn’t cost much as the synthetic material is cheap and easy to come by. It’s a shame that the new hair is just as snarled and matted as the old. Maybe he’ll try washing it and styling it to fix it for Jaskier. 

“Fine,” he transfers her the units, “I’ll probably be back, so maybe don’t threaten me with bodily harm next time?”

“I can’t promise anything, Geralt,” she smiles pleasantly at him, “My heart loves you but whenever I see you I just get so angry.”

He growls but waves goodbye as he exits the shop into the cool morning. The air is dense and sticky with humidity, as the planet’s atmosphere is made up of an absurd amount of water despite not having much on the surface itself. There’s purple clouds brewing overhead and the neon glow of advertisements reaches the fluffy edges, gilding them in pinks and greens and blues. Geralt keeps his eyes down to avoid looking at as many adverts as possible. They make him incredibly uncomfortable, especially the ones that look like giant women with bared breasts. 

It’s just not right, to have that many advertisements bombarding you all the time. No matter which planet he goes to, which solar system he traverses, he’s constantly warring with propaganda and the capitalism that has spread its foul tendrils through the universe, poisoning even the purest of societies. 

He passes a glowing blue hologram advertising a Bard Jaskier concert next week, the life size depiction of the android in full glory as he dances upon a stage is gruesome to say the least. Dressed in a long, white coat and a flowing blue scarf it’s a caricature, a falsehood. That isn’t Jaskier. He’s only known the droid for a day, but the Jaskier sitting on his workbench has more life in his one eye than the hologram has in both.

With his attention grabbed by the advertisement as it is, he doesn’t see the two ☌⍀⟒☌ approaching him from behind until he’s been grabbed roughly by the arms and shoved down a dank alleyway. He almost groans as he collapses into another pile of garbage bags, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. The ☌⍀⟒☌ are big and lumbering, with ugly teal skin that’s lumpy and misshapen over their huge bodies. They have four legs and six arms and are the natives of the planet, and while Geralt hasn’t gotten the hang of reading expressions on their faces, their thirteen eyes are narrowed in what appears to be a glare.

“⊬⍜⎍ ⋏⟒⟒⎅ ⏁⍜ ☍⟒⟒⌿ ⊬⍜⎍⍀ ⋏⍜⌇⟒ ⍜⎍⏁ ⍜⎎ ⌿⏃⋏☍⍀⏃⏁⋉'⌇ ⏚⎍⌇⟟⋏⟒⌇⌇,” the one on the left, a bit taller and with primarily black eyes growls. Geralt’s new translator crackles to life immediately as it repeats the phrase in Common.

_ “You need to keep your nose out of Pankratz’s business.” _

Geralt frowns, raising his hands amicably as he slowly gets to his feet, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The translator repeats in the native language and the ☌⍀⟒☌ glance at each other before the other speaks, “⏁⊑⟒ ⏃⋏⎅⍀⍜⟟⎅ ⊬⍜⎍ ⊑⏃⎐⟒. ⍙⟒ ☍⋏⍜⍙ ⟟⏁'⌇ ⍙⟟⏁⊑ ⊬⍜⎍ ⏃⋏⎅ ⏁⊑⏃⏁ ⟟⏁'⌇ ⎎⎍⋏☊⏁⟟⍜⋏⏃⌰. ⎅⟒⌇⏁⍀⍜⊬ ⟟⏁, ⍜⍀ ⍙⟒'⌰⌰ ⎅⟒⌇⏁⍀⍜⊬ ⊬⍜⎍⍀ ⌿⍀⟒⏁⏁⊬ ⌰⟟⏁⏁⌰⟒ ⌇⊑⍜⌿☌⟟⍀⌰.”

_ “The android you have. We know it’s with you and that it’s functional. Destroy it, or we’ll destroy your pretty little shopgirl.” _

Geralt swallows thickly as he appraises them, trying to think through his options. He can’t just destroy Jaskier, he’s become too attached to the funky little android that he’s determined to fix. But he also can’t let these fools hurt Yennefer, not without warning her of the incoming attack first. His third option is to try to run. While he’s strong and tall, able to take on most humans and quite a few alien species, he doesn’t think he’d win in a conflict with these two unarmed as he is.

He dashes towards them, trying to slip between them before they can catch him, but one of their many hands grabs his coat and hauls him back. Pain blooms across his face as he’s hit, and then the air is forced from his lungs as his solar plexus takes a beating. Their fists keep coming and he’s coughing and he can taste copper. Just as quickly as it started, it stops. 

Geralt is on the ground, curled up in the fetal position with his eyes tightly shut as pain radiates through his body. He hasn’t been beaten up in some time, and he’s forgotten how agonizing the low throb of bruises can be. One of the natives leans down and says quietly, “⎅⟒⌇⏁⍀⍜⊬ ⏁⊑⟒ ⟊4⌇☍13⍀, ⍜⍀ ⊬⍜⎍⍀ ⌇⊑⍜⌿☌⟟⍀⌰ ⟟⌇ ⋏⟒⌖⏁. ⏃⋏⎅ ⍙⟒ ⍙⍜⋏'⏁ ⏚⟒ ⌇⍜ ☍⟟⋏⎅ ⏁⍜ ⊑⟒⍀.”

“ _ Destroy the android, or your shopgirl is next. And we won’t be so kind to her.” _

It’s on unsteady feet that Geralt makes his way to Roach, the door sliding open as he stumbles through it and slams his hand on the lock mechanism. Jaskier looks up in alarm from the workbench, having been futzing with his hardware again. At least he doesn’t throw the spanner this time. 

“Geralt, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost and it beat you bloody,” Jaskier frowns in concern. There’s an empty container of coolant at his side and an open package upon the ground, so instead of answering Jaskier’s question, Geralt asks one of his own.

“Where did you get that?”

“What? The coolant?” Jaskier glances at it, “I ordered it when I woke up. As well as new lines for it to run through, that’s what I’ve been up to all morning while you were with Yennefer.”

“Replacing your cooling system?” Geralt doesn’t want to think about Yennefer right now. He doesn’t want to think about the two alien’s beating her as he was beaten. Killing her. Her blood staining the floor and soaking her raven hair as her optic implants power down and turn gray instead of being the brilliant violet hue they are. 

“Well, I can’t exactly be running my motors without some way of preventing them from overheating.”

He watches as Jaskier closes up a panel on his thigh. He shouldn’t do this. He  _ can’t  _ do this. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“I’ve turned off the pain drive. Managed to get into my base system operations a little while ago.”

“So you hack your own software.”

Jaskier shrugs, his shoulder kerchunking the way it did the last time he shrugged as well, “I suppose. Although, I don’t consider it hacking if it belongs to me.”

“You belong to Oxenfurt,” Geralt finds himself saying, and Jaskier blinks in surprise at him, “To Pankratz, and anyone else who rented you.” He has to do this. He has to do this. It’s Jaskier or Yennefer. He has to do this.

“I beg your pardon?” Jaskier frowns in confusion, “Geralt, what are you saying?”

“You’re nothing more than a machine.” The words feel hollow in his throat even as they claw at his lungs and crush his heart, “A thing. An object made for other’s consumption.” His fingers wrap around the handle of the fire ax that hangs on the wall by the door. He doesn’t want to do this. He wants to put the ax back and fly Roach off of this planet, leave everyone and everything behind and then Yennefer will be safe and Jaskier won’t be his problem anymore.

“Geralt…” Jaskier’s frown is deep and his eye is wide as his brows furrowed together, “Why are you saying these things? I thought we…”

“You’re just a stupid android.” He takes a step forward, his feet feeling like cinder blocks.

“I mean, we were starting to get along splendidly.”

“All you’re made for is to follow your protocols, and you’re defective.” His heart is pounding, and his palm feels clammy on the plastic handle of the ax.

“I understand what I asked you to do yesterday, but then you said you’d fix me!”

Geralt ignores him as he steps forward, his fingers flexing on the ax. His teeth are grit as he forces each agonizing word out, “Your life isn’t worth more than the life of a human. You’re worth less. You’re nothing more than a program.”

“Geralt!”

“I’m sorry, Jaskier,” he says softly, before quickly raising the ax and swinging it down towards the android. Jaskier shouts and rolls out of the way as the blade cuts through the metal of the workbench, directly where his leg had been.

Jaskier looks at him with panic in his eye, “What the  _ fuck _ is your problem? What did I do?”

“Nothing. Everything,” Geralt growls, yanking the ax free and swinging again, this time at Jaskier’s head, “I have to do this, I’m sorry!” He feels like his throat is swollen almost shut, but he has to do this. He can’t not do this. Yennefer is more important, she’s his only friend.

Jaskier grabs his core processor from where it sits on the workbench so that Geralt can’t cut the wires with the ax. He ducks beneath the swing as he does so. Geralt feels empty, his heart aching as he attacks the android he’s already put so much time and effort into. He doesn’t want to be doing this, but he can’t let Yennefer die. Not in Jaskier’s stead. There are other Jaskiers, other Bard vocaloids, other androids that will fill this Jaskier’s place. He’s expendable, built to be replaced over and over and over again. 

He hesitated too long. There’s a sharp pain at his temple and Geralt’s vision blurs as his knees buckle and he sinks to the ground, the ax falling free of his softening grip. The last thing he sees before passing out is Jaskier’s concerned face leaning over the edge of the bench and looking down at him, his single blue eye glowing bright.

* * *

He awakens to the sound of grinding machinery. There’s a bit of clanking and some quiet swearing and there’s also a heavy weight on his wrists. Geralt’s head is aching, and something dry crackles on his skin on the side of his face. Experience tells him it’s blood. His hopes that it’s not. There’s another awful grind and then the whining of an overloaded motor before the sound cuts off with another curse.

“Mother _ fucker _ .”

Geralt peels his heavy eyes open, looking blearily around the ship. He’s propped up against the workbench, but still seated on the floor, and his hands are restrained behind him. He tests his bindings and the links of a chain jingle in response. Where did handcuffs come from? Another sharp clank accompanied by violent swearing and his laser spanner clatters across the ship as it’s thrown.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asks, his head still a bit fuzzy from the pain in his temple and the dull ache through his bones.

“Fuck!” Jaskier shouts in surprise. His voice sounds like it’s coming from atop the workbench that Geralt is leaned against, but he doesn’t have enough energy to try and turn around. “What the  _ fuck _ Geralt?”

“What.”

“You tried to  _ kill me! _ Don’t you ‘what’ me!”

He tries to deflect, “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Yes, when I thought I was beyond repair and any life I would live would be a half one. But then you offered to fix me in exchange for some measly memory files, so I decided, ‘hey! What the hell, might as well survive another day’.” Jaskier’s feet swing off of the workbench before he slides down to the ground a safe distance away. Somehow, Jaskier has managed to replace his core processor in his head and attach the new cranium cap that Geralt had purchased, the blue hair no longer ragged and messy. Instead, Jaskier has styled it, shaving the bottom half and leaving the top to stick out in deliberately messy spikes, making it look like he’s just rolled out of bed. He’s also repaired his own leg, the joint of his ankle squeaking and groaning but functional. 

His arm is still a disaster, though. All of the plates have been removed and the inner workings are exposed as Jaskier had attempted to fix them. The coolant lines are terribly tangled with the wires and lubricant lines that run through the limb that’s still hanging loosely from the shoulder socket. Geralt frowns as he looks at it.

“Did you try to fix that yourself?”

“Yes,” Jaskier scowls, “But let’s not dwell on that. I want to circle back to that time you tried to kill me. Which was, incidentally, only  _ two hours _ ago, Geralt. What the fuck?”

“Jaskier…”

“And you said all sorts of shit to me, too! I mean, I know we had only a brief discussion about it, but I thought we’d really connected or something. But then I find out that all you thought of me was that I was  _ nothing? _ That I’m worthless? That a human life is literally more valuable than my own?”

Geralt winces at the hurt in Jaskier’s voice, “I… I’m so sorry, Jaskier. But, I had to! I had no choice. I have to destroy you.”

“But  _ why _ , Geralt. You won’t tell me why,” there’s a pleading tone to Jaskier’s words and Geralt has to look away from the desperation written across Jaskier’s face. His voice is much softer as he repeats his question, “Why?”

“Because they threatened to kill my best friend if I didn’t kill you!”

Jaskier is silent at the admission, and Geralt glares resolutely at the floor. He’s fucked up. He’s ruined everything. Not only does Jaskier probably hate him now, he’s also failed in his attempt to do what he was told and now Yennefer is going to get hurt for it. He’s not sure how Pankratz’s goons knew about his snooping, but if he had to guess, it would have to do something with Jaskier’s microphones not being as pure as they thought.

Finally, Jaskier speaks again, his jaw hinge squeaking softly like it does, “Geralt, you could have told me. I would have helped.”

“How can we trust that your microphones are secure? That has to be how they found out,” Geralt sighs and when he looks up, Jaskier looks affronted.

“ _ My _ microphones? I have full control over my own firmware, and yet you think it would be  _ my _ microphones? What about that holotab you carry, hm? Or the translator. Or your fucking neurolink! Oh, yes, I know about it,  _ Witcher _ .” 

Geralt flinches, “How did you find out about that?”

“Besides the tattoo on your wrist?” Jaskier tries to cross his arms but the broken one just spasms as the motors react to the surge so he lets them remain at his sides, “I’ve spoken with your lovely ship. She says you call her Roach? Anyhow, you’ve had her since you escaped The Blue Mountains. I’ve never been to that planet, but I do know that it’s where Witchers are created.”

“So you just  _ assumed _ that I’m a Witcher, an intergalactic warrior, and hoped you’d be right?” Geralt isn’t sure if he should be bashing his head against the workbench or impressed with Jaskier’s confidence even as it wavers before him.

“I… well, yes. I suppose,” Jaskier admits a bit sheepishly, “But you can’t blame me for being a bit paranoid. I unencrypted more of my memory files while I was waiting for you and it seems as though I’m caught up in some-some… some  _ huge _ conspiracy or some such nonsense.”

“With Pankratz Intergalactic?”

“Quite.”

“I spoke with Yennefer about it,” Geralt agrees, thinking about his time at the shop, “She seems to think your damage was foul play. Targeted. They probably wanted you out of the picture since your black box has evidence on it.”

“You talked about it in a public shop?” Jaskier has an odd expression on his face.

“Yes?”

“Oh, Geralt, you  _ idiot,” _ Jaskier scolds him, “There’re cameras and microphones all over those places! Built into the foundations of the building so that whoever owns it can sell the data to any companies with their name mentioned within their walls.”

The camera. The camera that he asked Yennefer about. The same camera that she said was nonfunctional. It probably had a microphone on it, so even if the camera wasn’t working, the audio feed would. Geralt definitely wants to bash his head against the workbench now, “I’m so fucking stupid.”

“I’m not disagreeing. But now isn’t the time for that. I need you to fix my arm so we can go.”

“Go?” Geralt looks over at him in confusion, “Go where?”

“To make sure that your parts friend isn’t selling you out.”

Geralt repairs Jaskier’s arm in record time, once the android has uncuffed him. The moment the limb is back into place and functional, all the inner workings straightened out and reorganized, Jaskier starts slapping the plates back on faster than Geralt would have been able to, his movements precise and calculated. They then jump to their feet and start to rush out of the ship, but Jaskier stops at the door.

“Wait!”

Geralt pauses, turning back to look at him questioningly, “What?”

“I can’t go out like this,” he complains, “I’m completely nude!”

“Jaskier, you have no visible genitalia. It’s all extra upgrades. That you don’t have.”

“Yes, I’m  _ fully  _ aware of that little fact. But I’m still without clothing, and most people are used to seeing androids  _ with _ clothes on. Without, I’ll be sure to draw even more attention.”

Geralt has to begrudgingly agree that Jaskier’s shiny, if dented and scratched, body is something that draws the eye and will grab the attention of any passersby. So he finds the first clothing he can get his hands on and tosses them to the android who shucks it on. It all fits rather well, the thick coat covering his silver skin up to his neck and down to his hips, everything below the belt is hidden by dark cargo pants and heavy boots.

As they quickly make their way into the shopping district, Jaskier glances at Geralt several times before asking, “So are Witchers  _ really _ secret agents?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a secret if people knew about us,” Geralt points out and Jaskier hums thoughtfully. “We’re more like mercenaries. Or we were. Now everyone who’s left just sort of does their own thing.”

“Like?”

“Well, I’m a scrapper. Find broken machines, scrap them for parts, sell the parts. My brother Lambert, however, is a mechanic. Fixes the same machines that I would scrap and taught me everything I know about them. My other brother, Eskel… well, he’s a farmer now. Has some fucking goats or something and lives on Earth with his husband, Ashwood.”

“The mage?”

“You know of him?”

“Not many elves left these days,” Jaskier says and Geralt nods in agreement, “Let alone ones that invent new elixirs.”

“Fair point.”

They fall silent then, both deep in their own thoughts as they pass across block after block, going deeper into the shopping district until they’re winding through the narrow pedestrian streets that lead to Yennefer’s store. The door is shut and locked tight, despite only being a little past midday, and Geralt frowns.

“Is that bad in a ‘I’m suspicious and need to get away’ way? Or in a ‘I’ve been attacked and need help’ way?” Jaskier asks, his face a mask of concern.

“I’m not sure. I trust Yen with my life though, she wouldn’t sell us out.”

“Us?” Jaskier glances over at him, his eyebrows raised. Geralt feels his face flush slightly.

“Hm. Us. You’re not doing this alone, Jask. Probably get yourself killed.”

“Uh-huh. And I thought that was what I wanted?”

Geralt nearly winces but notices that Jaskier’s smiling, his eye holding a teasing glint as he looks at Geralt. “Ha-ha. Okay, I was wrong. And I already said I was sorry for trying to kill you, what more do you want?”

“Mm, perhaps a kiss. When this is all over.” Jaskier leaves Geralt standing there, the scrapper’s face flaming red as he watches the android press the external door release. The door remains shut tight and Geralt swallows thickly before hurrying to catch up as Jaskier walks around the building, shoving the suggestion from his mind.

“Door’s locked,” Jaskier states when Geralt falls in step beside him, “Figure we’ll check the back door, and if that’s locked too I can try and hack the security panel.”

Geralt raises his eyebrows at Jaskier, “You can do that?”

“Darling, I can do so many things you haven’t even  _ dreamed _ of,” Jaskier looks over and winks. Well, Geralt thinks it’s a wink, as the metal eyelid slid shut over his single eye but the other one remained open over the empty socket. 

Geralt clears his throat and looks away, his face feeling hot, “We should be careful. The walls have ears, and all that.”

“Why do you think I’ve been running a sound dampener?” Jaskier asks lightly, stepping up to the backdoor and pressing the external door release, “A single tone, above the pitch that biological creatures can hear but able to be picked up by any microphones. Loud enough that no one can hear us over it.”

“Smart,” Geralt nods his acquiescence. Jaskier tries the release again before sighing and tilting his head back, his neck joints whining, to look at the rooftop high above them.

“We need to get up there. That’s where the security access panel will be.”

Geralt looks around for something to climb with, and when he looks back Jaskier is already scaling the side of the building. He digs his metal fingers into the crevices in the masonry, the rubber soles of the boots holding tight on the rough surface. It’s unusual to see brickwork on alien planets, the necessary ingredients to make clay are infrequent, but metal is plentiful, so cities are often built of steel and glass. 

They’re made of glistening spires that stand tall above the surface, gleaming in whatever light is provided by the nearest stars. In the day, the cities are almost lackluster, looking gray and dull and lifeless beneath the midday sun. But at night… at night they  _ shine. _ The lights of life beaming out of windows, blazing by on streets as vehicles pass, music blasting from clubs and the neon from advertisements casting everything in soft, colorful hues. People will be dressed in their finest clothes, glittering suits and metallic dresses and heels taller that leave the wearer perched on the very tips of their toes. Shimmering makeup will dust their skin, bright colors covering their eyes and the most delicate of holographic glitters highlighting bone structures. 

Geralt admires it all, truly he does. He recognizes the beauty in the cities of today, the glamour that covers every street corner under the cover of night. The city fights in a losing battle against the darkness that encroaches under beds and in closets, below the streets and in alleys, but it still fights with such brilliant color and blazing light that it reigns victorious over the night, the pulsing of music echoing the heartbeat of metropolitan vivacity. It’s something he can respect, but the way it’s been infiltrated with corruption and greed leaves a sour taste in his mouth, so he ignores the bittersweet beauty as best he can.

Jaskier has disappeared over the edge of the roof, and Geralt watches the empty sky with his heart in his throat. He can trust Jaskier, he thinks; the android hasn’t done anything to prove otherwise to him and Jaskier seems just as interested in getting to the bottom of this nonsense as Geralt is. There’s a buzz and a light on the external door release changes from red to green. Jaskier’s head peers over the side of the building as he calls down to Geralt:

“Did it unlock? There’s no rooftop entrance for me to judge by.”

Geralt nods, unsure if Jaskier’s sound dampener extends far enough to hide his voice. Words seem unnecessary, though, as Jaskier climbs back down again and hits the door release with a triumphant grin. The door whooshes open, revealing the dark back room of Yennefer’s shop beyond. They hover in the doorway for a minute longer before going inside with an exchanged glance: Jaskier looking worried while Geralt has a hard expression. 

They cross the threshold. 

Behind them, the door slams shut again, the locks engaging even though Jaskier just disabled the security system. Jaskier turns instinctively to look back at it, but Geralt narrows his eyes and scans the darkened room, the air smelling oddly metallic. He almost can’t make anything out except shadows, but the glow of Jaskier’s LEDs along his cheekbones allows for just enough light that Geralt can tell there’s no one in here. A floorboard creaks overhead and both of them look up at it, Geralt’s hands flexing into fists. Yennefer’s living quarters.

“Are we still thinking this could be a ‘she’s betrayed us’ sort of situation?” Jaskier asks quietly, “Because this room is absolutely slathered in blood.”

Geralt looks over at him sharply, “How do you know?”

“I’ve adjusted my vision for minimal light,” Jaskier explains, “And also my data processors have analyzed the air. There’s iron, carbon, excess nitrogen, and excess hydrogen. Elements that are commonly found in human blood.”

“Can you illuminate the room at all?” He needs to know. He needs to see how much blood is in Jaskier’s measurement of ‘slathered’. Is it enough to kill a human? Is it enough for multiple humans? Now that the metallic scent in the air has been identified, Geralt’s stomach is churning and twisting against the smell.

Jaskier nods and blinks, his eye turning into a headlamp of sorts and casting a round light on the wall opposite them. The gray concrete is stained black with a shining liquid splattered across it. Geralt’s stomach lurches. 

As Jaskier looks around the room to cast the light over the surroundings, Geralt’s heart sinks and his stomach plummets further. There’s blood on  _ everything. _ Much more than a single person could bleed without dying. The floorboards creak above them again and the light moves to the ceiling as Jaskier looks upwards. 

“Think we ought to go check that out?” He asks, glancing at Geralt’s torso so that he doesn’t blind the human. Geralt swallows thickly and nods.

He leads the way up the narrow staircase, both his and Jaskier’s footsteps nearly inaudible. Geralt’s heart is beating against his ribs, blood rushing in his ears alongside his shaking breath which sounds so  _ loud _ in the silence of the building. Jaskier’s joints groan and whine, the metal squealing softly from being repaired haphazardly and left un-oiled. 

Jaskier’s cold hand touches Geralt’s wrist, stopping him at the upper landing. “People,” he murmurs, “three lifeforms in the room on the left. One in the room on the right.”

“Can you tell who they are?” Geralt whispers, looking back at Jaskier. The android has turned off his eyelamp and keeps his fingers loosely curled around Geralt’s wrist.

“Not really. But I think they’re natives in the left room and maybe a human in the right. That’s all I can figure out, my microphones aren’t strong enough to do anything more than that.”

Geralt doesn’t pull his hand away, but he does start moving forward again. He makes a beeline for the door on the right, pressing the door release, and it slides open with a soft whoosh. Seated on the floor, her hair mussed and her wrists bound, is Yennefer. She has blood on her temple and a gag in her mouth but she’s glaring at the floor, her violet eyes flicking up to him. They widen almost imperceptibly as something flickers across her face faster than he can discern before her glare settles in again.

Geralt and Jaskier enter the room, the door sliding shut behind them. Jaskier releases Geralt’s wrist and turns half towards the door, keeping watch as Geralt kneels down behind Yen. He removes the gag first before getting to work on the handcuffs, fuzzy pink fur wrapping around the wrist pieces.

“I see you fixed your android,” Yennefer says haughtily, “How does it run?”

“I’m a  _ he,” _ Jaskier scowls, looking over at Yennefer with his single eye, “What are you? It’s hard to tell witches apart.”

Her glare becomes one of willed death, her eyes shining dangerously, “How did you know that, droid?”

He looks away again, turning his attention back to the hall through the door, “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Yen opens her mouth to argue but Geralt cuts her off, releasing the cuffs, “Come on, we’ve no time for this, you two. You can argue all you like once we’re back to Roach. Yen, are the people in the other room a current threat?”

She scoffs, “Not in the slightest. The only reason they got the jump on me was because they caught me by surprise.”

“Then we can probably just sneak past them,” Geralt nods, holding a hand out to help Yennefer to her feet. She knocks it away with an irritable sigh as she gets to her feet and walks to the door. Jaskier watches her closely, a soft frown on his face. Geralt glances at him questioningly and Jaskier shakes his head before following her out of the room and back downstairs.

It’s unusually easy to get out of the building again, Yennefer just overriding the door lock that shut behind them, and Geralt can see the suspicion building in Jaskier. He’s just glad Yen’s okay, and focuses on that as they hurry out of the shopping district and back to the outskirts of the city where Roach is parked. They don’t come across any trouble, and are silent as they hustle, the only sounds punctuating their group being the breathing of the humans and the squeaking of Jaskier’s joints.

Once the door to Roach slides shut behind them, Geralt hits the door lock and turns on his security system. Yennefer wanders around the common area, peering at the mess left behind from their hasty repair job to Jaskier’s arm and then hovering by the computer. Jaskier narrows his eye and walks over, placing a hand on Yennefer’s shoulder and wearing an easy smile.

“I’m sure you’re tired, Lady Yennefer.”

Yen looks up at him in surprise, “Oh, I’m al-”

“After all, being hit over the head can be quite the experience,” Jaskier continues as though she hadn’t spoken, “Not to mention the emotional duress of being restrained in your own home against your will. I’d imagine you’d like to lie down for a bit.” His fingers are digging into her shoulder as he holds her gaze.

Geralt frowns and steps back from the cockpit, “Jask, let her go. If she doesn’t want to sleep it’s fine.”

“No, no,” Yennefer doesn’t wince but her eyes are tight with pain from Jaskier’s grip, “He’s right. I’ll go lay down in your quarters if you don’t mind, Geralt.” Without waiting for an answer, she twists free of Jaskier’s hold and hurries into the sleeping quarters, the door shutting behind her. Geralt turns on Jaskier immediately.

“What the fuck was that, Jaskier?”

“Lower your voice,” Jaskier hisses, pushing Geralt towards the cockpit and standing in the doorway. His silver body fills it and Geralt can’t help himself from dragging his eyes over Jaskier’s visage. In Geralt’s clothes, with the undercut and spiky hair, Jaskier looks like a force to be reckoned with. He could be a Witcher in his own right, if he weren’t blatantly an android, the silver skin and glowing LEDs on his body giving him away immediately.

Geralt huffs and crosses his arms, leaning against the back of the pilot’s chair, “What’s got your wires in a twist?”

Jaskier scowls at him for a moment before taking a moment to calm down, speaking quietly, “There was a lot of blood in that backroom.”

“Yes,” Geralt looks away, not wanting to think about that, “What of it?”

“Yennefer only had a small abrasion on her left temple.”

“Maybe she was injured elsewhere and you couldn’t see it.”

Jaskier shakes his head, “I ran a full body scan on her. Other than having the abrasion and the optic enhancements, she’s healthy. Well, she’s got the base structure for a reproductive implant, but it’s incomplete thus far.”

“So what are you saying, Jaskier? That you think Yennefer betrayed us after all? She was tied up in her own house!”

“ _ Shush,” _ Jaskier frowns, pausing as he listens for a moment, “She’ll overhear you if you don’t keep your voice  _ down _ , Geralt.”

Geralt glares at him, “What you’re suggesting is preposterous.”

“Ooh, a big word,” Jaskier raises his eyebrows.

“Anyway, the blood might not have been hers. Maybe it belonged to the ☌⍀⟒☌.”

“It definitely wasn’t hers, unless she’s not human and can replenish the blood of three people in an hour. That blood was fresh, Geralt.”

“I’ll ask again, what are you trying to say?”

Jaskier frowns, placing his hands on his hips, “Just… keep an eye on her. This is all a bit sus, don’t you think? You’re attacked and threatened her life if you don’t destroy me. You don’t break me beyond repair and she’s just hit a little on the head and tied up. Then we can get her out as easy as pie. It’s all a bit too convenient.”

“You’re just being paranoid,” Geralt shakes his head, “Yennefer’s trustworthy. I trust her with my life.”

“Be my guest, but I won’t be trusting her with mine.” Jaskier looks down at the floor for a moment before looking back up at Geralt again, “I’m not saying she’s not a trustworthy person, Geralt. I’m saying she might be more trustworthy to someone else right now than to you.”

“Say you’re right. I don’t agree with you but I’ll humor you. Let’s say you’re correct, Jaskier, what would we do about that? Why would she do something like this? She’s my best friend, why would she betray us?”

“I don’t know, Geralt,” Jaskier says softly, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why she would do something like this. But what we can do right now is stay vigilant, don’t let her get access to the memory drive. I’ll back it up again, another external source, so if it suddenly goes missing or gets broken we have another copy.”

Geralt sighs and nods, his frown troubled as he refuses to look at Jaskier. He keeps his gaze firmly on the door jamb beside Jaskier’s left shoulder, “Alright. I don’t like it, but it can’t hurt to remain alert.”

Jaskier nods in agreement before stepping back, opening up the doorway for Geralt to pass through again. They’re quiet as they move around each other, cleaning up the workbench and then settling in to wait. For what, they’re not sure, but Geralt futzes with his computer, watching the rest of the memory files that Jaskier has unencrypted. They’re more of the same, evidence of wrongdoing and the premeditated genocide that Pankratz is planning, until the last one.

_ Jaskier has just finished a performance and exits the stage to go into the back hallway, heading for his dressing room. Two humans step out of it, both of them dressed in black clothing that covers their faces and hides their identities. Jaskier puts his hands up, stepping back cautiously, as both of the humans wield weapons. _

_ “Good evening, gentlemen,” Jaskier says with a happy tone in his robotic voice, still altered from his vocaloid performance. His display shows that he’s running self protection protocols, “I’m afraid this area is for employees of the auditorium only and performers. So, if you wouldn’t mind-” He’s shoved forward suddenly, stumbling into the two humans. They grab him by the arm, yanking on it while kicking him back. His arm rips free of the socket with a shower of sparks and a spray of coolant and his display turns red at the edges as his pain driver kicks in. _

_ Behind him was a third person, who lifts up a sledge and swings it down onto Jaskier’s head. Jaskier’s display cuts out in one eye and he watches the optic component skitter across the ground. The rest of his display flickers and he gets an overheating warning as his coolant drains away. “Please-”  _

The memory ends. There are no further memories after that on the drive, as Jaskier has been recording them to his standard harddrive instead of the memory drive. Geralt looks over at him, sitting on the workbench as he fiddles with his arm to smooth the movement of it and finish the quick job they performed earlier to fix it. 

“You felt it.”

Jaskier blinks and looks up at him, raising his eyebrows slightly. His empty socket is more unnerving now, since Geralt’s seen how it became that way, and the replacement optic component sits heavily in his pants pocket. It’s how Jaskier didn’t find it, since the android only searched Geralt’s coat pockets for parts. Jaskier glances at the computer, seeing the last frame of the memory frozen on the screen.

“Ah.”

“You felt it,” Geralt repeats. He’s not sure why, but it’s important to him that he knows the answer.

“I did.”

“And it hurt.”

“Yes.” Jaskier makes a sound like a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he looks away. He looks tired, and Geralt wonders if the last time the android charged was when he had Jaskier plugged in two days ago, “The pain drive is very effective, Geralt. It’s very motivating in getting androids to pay attention to what’s broken.”

Geralt’s not sure he wants to know more. But at the same time, he feels like he needs to. He opens his mouth to ask when the door to the ship blasts open, knocking them both back and from their perches. Geralt falls beneath the desk while Jaskier tumbles over the workbench. The two humans clad in black from the memory enter, holding large weapons, one of which is still smoking. Jaskier pokes his head up from behind the workbench and then yelps in alarm.

He ducks back down again and the humans advance forward. Geralt rolls out from under the desk, grabbing a wrench and jumping up. He swings it at one of the humans. One of their guns discharges and hits him in the stomach, knocking him back and over his chair. Geralt’s head hits the ground and his vision blurs, his hearing muffling as well. He can faintly hear Jaskier shouting in protest before the android is silent.

Geralt pulls himself upright again but his knees buckle, sending him sprawling on the floor again. Whatever they hit him with is powerful, strong enough to override his enhancements. It’s with his cheek pressed to the cool grates that he watches the humans carry Jaskier out of the ship, one of them grabbing the memory drive from the desk. Just as quickly as they came, they’re gone. And so is Jaskier.

Geralt’s not sure how long he lays there before his head clears enough for the world to stop spinning. He groans as he hauls himself to his feet, pulling his chair upright again so he can sit heavily in it, resting his elbows on his knees. He buries his face in his hands, what is he going to do? How is he going to fix this?

A small voice whispers that he can let this happen. He can move on. He’s only known the android for three days, he has no obligation to Jaskier. He was losing money on the droid, didn’t make a single unit from repairing him. But at the same time… the company was nice. The verbal sparring they did while Geralt repaired him, Jaskier’s dramatic soliloquies as he proved he was a poet, the quiet singing Geralt would hear through the closed door of his sleeping chambers that wasn’t the pop music vocaloids are known for singing… Geralt can’t just let him be taken to the chop shop, because surely that’s what those humans are going to do.

The door to his sleeping quarters slides open as Yennefer emerges, looking almost afraid as she warily eyes him. Geralt looks up at her, his golden eyes narrowing in suspicion. He thinks about the things Jaskier pointed out to him, and it’s with surety in his voice that he says, “You called them here.”

Yennefer doesn’t answer right away, but her eyes flicker to the ground in what might be shame before she nods once, “I did.”

“Why.”

“Geralt, you have to understand..”

He holds up a hand, “I just want to know why. Why would you sell me out?”

“I didn’t sell  _ you _ out,” she protests, crossing her arms defensively, “I sold out that android. He’d seen things that Pankratz wanted no record of. And then when you started snooping…” she sighs and glares at the floor, “I was in the middle of a reproductive implant. They stopped the procedure. If I didn’t play along with their plans, they were going to make sure I’d never get the procedure done.”

“You sent Jaskier to his death sentence so you could have a fucking baby?”

“It’s about more than that, Geralt,” she snaps, “It’s about my choice. I was foolish as a child, and as a result, my choice was taken away from me. I lost agency in my body. It became property of Aretuza, you know that. Until I was able to escape the mages and flee here. The only thing left for me to reclaim, to truly have myself back, was my womb.”

Geralt presses his lips together and turns his head, he can’t look at her right now. As badly as he wants to be angry with her, he understands how much her freedom of choice means to her. Especially after he accidentally removed it for a time shortly after they met at the Djinn nightclub. He understands her reasoning, he really does, and in her eyes… well he’s only known Jaskier for three days. Of course she doesn’t think he’s as attached as he’s become. But there’s something about Jaskier, something that android has within him, that Geralt just can’t get enough of. And he doesn’t want to stop experiencing it.

“What if I promise to help you get your implant completed?” Geralt asks, looking over at her. 

She arches an eyebrow at him, “What do you mean? How would you be able to do that?”

“I…” he hesitates. This is it. If he tells her, there’s no coming back from it, “I may have an in with Morhen Pharmaceuticals.”

“How the hell do you have that?”

“I’m a Witcher.”

Yennefer looks at him blankly for a few moments before laughing, throwing her head back in mirth, “That’s rich, Geralt.”

He frowns and sighs, walking past her to the hidden compartment he has built into Roach’s wall beside his bedroom door. With a flick of his wrist, he’s revealed a secret panel and touch pad. He inputs the password and the compartment opens, revealing two gleaming swords on the wall and a rack of glittering elixirs. The swords have circuitry running through their blades, the lines and circles red against the shining silver of the metal. The hilt of one has a snarling wolf while the other is a diamond, their pommels gleaming just as brightly while the grips are wrapped in plastic that’s soft like old leather.

Yennefer’s eyes are nearly bulging out of her head, her jaw slack and her red lips parted as she stares at the swords. Geralt slowly turns to her and pulls his sleeve up, revealing the tattoo on his wrist of the same snarling wolf on the hilt of one sword. The one that marks him as enhanced. As a mercenary. As a Witcher.

“You aren’t joking,” she says faintly, “I thought all the Witchers were gone.”

He shakes his head, pulling his sleeve back down and removing his swords from the compartment to strap them across his back, “No. They were acquired by Morhen Pharmaceuticals. Vesemir Morhen is a Witcher as well.”

“The CEO?”

“And founder,” Geralt nods grimly, grabbing the vials of elixirs and putting them in special slots on his belt, “He retired the program after finding that the data on how to create our enhancements was leaked. Cost him a fortune to have that information erased permanently.”

“He provides you your…”

“The elixirs?” He looks over at her, his eyebrows raised, “Yes. Some of them are newer, created by my brother’s husband-”

“Only mages can create new elixirs,” Yennefer protests, “I should know.”

Geralt nods, “That’s correct. Ashwood is a mage.”

“And he’s not under Ban Ard’s command?”

“No, it cost him a pretty penny, but with Eskel’s help he was able to get his data removed from Ban Ard’s database.”

Yennefer looks thoughtful, if a bit ashen still, “I wish I’d had that same help when I was a mage. The only way to be removed from Aretuza’s databases is to no longer be one. And yet you still lose your body and don’t get to recover it.” She sounds bitter and angry and any other time Geralt would be wanting to help her but he has someone else on his mind right now.

“I’m sorry, Yennefer. Had I known you, I can assure you I would have offered my assistance,” Geralt glances at the open doorway of Roach, “We need to figure out where they’re taking Jaskier.”

“I’d assume the chop shop.”

“So would I, but something about that doesn’t feel right,” he shakes his head, “No, I think they’re taking him somewhere else this time. To finish the job.”

Yennefer sighs, “Well, unless you’ve got a tracker on him.”

There’s a whistling sound from Geralt’s computer as Roach’s AI gets his attention. It’s not as strong an AI as Jaskier’s, but it’s able to run autopilot and basic commands. Geralt approaches the computer and bends down, peering at the screen for a few moments. There’s a map of the city, a red dot moving through it, and beside the map is an open folder of files labeled “J4SK13R_MEMORY_BACKUP.R04C1-1”.

“That fucking android,” Geralt murmurs, an impressed grin spreading across his face, “He talked about backing up his files to an external drive, I didn’t think he’d back them up to  _ Roach! _ And he’s given her access to his positioning system, we can see exactly where he is.”

“Those memory files are the ones with the incriminating evidence against Pankratz, yes?” Yennefer asks as she walks over to peer over his shoulder. He nods and she glances at him, “Well, you ought to get those to the proper authorities, don’t you think?”

Geralt taps the screen, dragging the folder to his messaging system and dropping it in a conversation labeled VM, “I think you’re absolutely right.”

* * *

Jaskier can confidently say that he’s been having a rather shit day. A rather shit few days, if he’s being honest with himself. From getting bashed to the point of almost no repair, to having to bargain with a scrapper for his life, and then to maybe kinda falling just the littlest bit in love with that scrapper before being androidnapped; Jaskier’s days have just been getting worse and worse. What’s next? His head being removed for ornamentation?

Actually, he doesn’t want to tempt the fates and sends out a quick prayer to any robot gods that might exist so that his head doesn’t end up a centerpiece. He rather likes it, even if it isn’t as shiny as it used to be, and this more stylistic kind of hair is growing on him. But he’ll never get to enjoy it, or Geralt’s company again, if he gets sent to the chop shop like he suspects is happening. He only hopes that Geralt finds the GPS he left with Roach and the backup of his memory drive.

He sighs, or rather he makes the android equivalent of a sigh, and continues to stare listlessly at the dark underside of the vehicle trunk he’s been thrown into. They’ve activated his emergency shut down, which starts with his body becoming immediately inactive as his system slowly goes through the process of a proper shutdown so nothing becomes corrupted. The vehicle he’s in hums and bumps over small currents and he’s glad that his touch sensors have already shut down or else this would be another unpleasant thing atop his growing pile of shit.

His operating system has shut down 95% when the vehicle stops and the humans open the trunk, hauling Jaskier’s limp body out of it. He wants to yell. To shout and scream and flail and remove himself from this situation. But as his shutdown ticks closer to completion, he knows he can’t. He’s barely got a handle on his thoughts right now, the AI being one of the very last things to power down. He gets a warning on his display of overheating, and he should really just succumb to the shutdown, his fans have turned off and if he keeps running his AI like he is he’s going to melt something.

_ Shutdown 97% Complete _

But he can’t do that. He has to stay awake until the very last percent. If he shuts down then his GPS goes dark and Geralt won’t know how to find him. He needs to stay awake until his last known location pings to Roach. He needs to… He needs to… to what? His body is thrown onto a workbench and he’s staring at a bright ceiling. What’s going on?

_ Shutdown 98% Complete _

He feels like he’s forgetting something, but the warning on his display is becoming more insistent as his internal temperature continues to rise. He should shut down now, the fans aren’t cooling him and the coolant isn’t enough on its own. But there was a reason he wasn’t shutting down. What was it? A low battery warning appears on his display as well, informing him that he hasn’t charged in nearly three days. He wasn’t at full battery to begin with, but he can’t remember why.

_ Shutdown 99% Complete _

Whatever it was that was preventing him from shutting down must not be important if he can’t remember it. And his battery is nearly dead. If he wants to be able to startup again after the shutdown he needs to have power. Jaskier’s eye closes as his motors stop whirring and everything stills.

_ Shutdown Complete _

* * *

Geralt blinks as Jaskier’s GPS goes dark, flying Roach in a straight line over the city towards where the red dot had been heading. Something’s happened, Jaskier’s offline and that bodes well for no one. He clenches his jaw nervously as he waits, a last known location will ping through at any moment. There’s no need to panic and let his emotions get the best of him. Good old technology will pull through.

The dash whistles and a gray dot appears on the GPS again. The last known location sent by Jaskier’s positioning system is a huge office building in the business sector. As Roach soars closer to it, Geralt leans forward to look out of the windshield. The building is enormous, standing several hundred meters tall, and glittering in the nightlight. The glass reflects the purple neon of a nearby advertisement on its left and the blue neon of an advert on its right. The majority of the building is dark, but down near the base there’s a few stories lit up despite the late hour. 

Parked in front of the building is a single vehicle.

Geralt brings Roach down to the street, landing in a parking lot nearby that’s open enough for the personal spacecraft. The wind stops blowing through the destroyed doorway into the cabin as Roach settles, and Yennefer takes a deep breath from where she’s leaning against his workbench, flexing her hands into fists and then relaxing them again. Geralt has changed into his old Witcher gear and has his swords strapped to his back as he steps down from the doorway, his heavy boots landing on the ground below.

His dark jacket has small studs on the large shoulders, the thick fabric carrying a structured sort of bagginess to it so that he can layer his armor beneath it. Silver piping runs along the seams and the tall collar is red on the inside. He has the collar unbuttoned so it doesn’t cover the lower half of his face, and the silver straps holding his sheathes criss cross over his chest. He has his hair tied up in a high ponytail, his shaved undercut exposing the circuitry of his neurolink that connects him to the Witcher network.

Yennefer hops down beside him, wearing a low-cut black vest that she had left aboard Roach the last time she visited. It’s cropped just above her navel and is sleeveless, revealing her olive skin and the purple veins on the insides of her forearms that glow faintly from her time as a mage. She carries the only gun Geralt owns on her hip, the holster sitting loose and low, and she has a knife strapped to her opposite thigh.

Geralt’s not sure what they’re going to find inside the building, so he draws his steel sword, the blade humming and crackling with electricity as the circuitry recognizes his bare palm. The corners of his lips twitch and he takes a few experimental swings, loosening his wrists and falling back into the old headspace of combat. He looks at Yennefer and gives her a nod that she returns before they walk across the street to the alley next to the office.

They approach a side door, and Geralt is surprised to see the external door release glowing green. With a suspicious frown, he kicks the release and steps out of the way of the door when it slides open. Light pours out into the dim alley but nothing suddenly shoots through it, and he angles his sword to use it like a mirror, peering into the lit room beyond. It seems to be a break room, with a coffee maker on the counter and holoscreens on the walls. It’s empty, so Geralt waves to Yennefer to follow him.

Keeping his sword in a ready position, Geralt passes through the break room into the hall beyond, pausing to down a Cat elixir and listens as he squints his eyes against the lights in the building. There’s no footsteps on this floor, but one floor above them he can hear motion on the far end of the building. The whoosh of the emergency door closing behind them is overwhelmingly loud with Geralt’s hearing extended like this and he flinches. Yennefer murmurs an apology before following him as he silently creeps through the halls to the stairwell.

He presses his ear to the door and, when he doesn’t hear any signs of activity on the opposite side, he pushes the door release. It slides open and they make their way upstairs quickly, pausing once again before exiting the stairwell on the second floor. The hall up here is dark, despite the floor having been lit from the outside, and Geralt holds up a hand to stop Yennefer as the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

When he reopens them, the irises are glowing faintly gold and he knows the circuitry that’s normally hidden beneath his hair is doing the same. He’s connected to the Witcher network, an independent, intergalactic matrix that allows him access to around 80% of the universe’s systems without requiring codes. The building hums around him, now that he’s tuned in to it, and he searches the database for Jaskier’s location. His optic enhancement, used in tandem with another downed elixir, allows him to see through the walls, the outlines of life forms illuminating in a golden silhouette. On the far end of the floor he can see one such silhouette bent over something. 

He motions for Yennefer to move again and they glide silently through the darkened halls until the light from a lab is spilling out of an open doorway and unshielded windows. Geralt presses up against the wall beside one large pane of glass, tilting his head to see into the room as the light illuminates one sliver of his face. There’s a human in a lab coat bent over a workbench and puttering with a silver metal arm. Just visible around the lab coat is a shock of messy midnight blue hair.

Geralt is about to move in when a door on the opposite side of the lab opens and a tall, heavy set human walks in. He has an enormous walrus mustache and small beady eyes and he’s wearing a suit, a silver neurolink on his temple and extending into his gel greased hair. Jorgan Pankratz, owner and CEO of Pankratz Intergalactic, walks over to the workbench flanked by two armed ☌⍀⟒☌.

“Have you wiped it yet?” Pankratz asks in Common, his voice grating against Geralt’s ears. Jaskier isn’t an  _ it. _

“Not yet, sir,” the technician, for that’s what the human must be, shakes their head, “I’m in the process though. It’s hooked up to our computers. Data wipes take up to an hour.”

“When did you start the process?” Pankratz sounds bored as he crosses his arms over his wide chest, “I can’t have this thing getting back to me. It needs to be returned to Oxenfurt in peak condition.”

The technician nods, “Yes, sir. I began wiping it about forty-five minutes ago. It’s at…” they pause and walk over to a computer and Geralt sees that Jaskier is hooked up to several wires extending out of the base of his skull. He’s been stripped of Geralt’s clothing and the replacement parts have been buffed and shined until they’re almost indistinguishable from the original plates. Jaskier’s eye socket is still empty, though. Optic components are hard to come by and a replacement probably had to be ordered. “87% completion.”

“What remains to be wiped?”

“The Operating System, sir, and its Artificial Intelligence.”

“Do either of those contain the memory files?”

The technician glances at Jaskier nervously, “I’m not sure. It’s done a lot of work on itself. A lot of its protocols were bypassed to allow it free will. That should be rectified once it’s been wiped and the OS is reinstalled.”

Pankratz nods, moving closer to run his thick, sweaty fingers through Jaskier’s hair. Geralt hates this. He hates watching and being unable to do anything. But now isn’t the right time to burst in, not when Pankratz is standing right there with his security detail. Taking Pankratz down will be Vesemir’s thing. Geralt’s here to recover Jaskier and get the hell out.

But then Pankratz’s lips twist into a smirk as he looks down at the android, “What upgrades has it got?”

“Sir?” The technician looks up from their computer questioningly.

“What upgrades does it have? I want to know what fun I can have with it before we power it up again and return it to Oxenfurt.”

Geralt freezes and he feels Yennefer stiffen beside him. Pankratz can’t seriously be suggesting… It’s disgusting. It’s vile. It’s horrendous and horrifying and monstrous and Geralt suddenly doesn’t care that he’s supposed to let Vesemir take down Pankratz Intergalactic and get the company’s CEO behind bars. Geralt’s going to kill him right here, right now.

He runs into the room, his hand already raised and veins lighting up along his wrist and fingers as a blast of electricity surges out and thunders through the air. It creates a force of static that throws everyone in range back. Pankratz crashes into his security and the technician is tossed into the desk as Jaskier’s body tumbles off of the workbench.

Yennefer runs in after him, her gun drawn and cocked as she shoots the technician. Their blood sprays across the monitors, splattering over the cheerfully increasing percentage. The wipe is already at 90% completion, and if they don’t get it canceled  _ now _ Jaskier’s harddrive is going to be completely clean. 

The security detail has gotten up again, one of them pulling Pankratz behind them while the other charges forward with their gun raised. Geralt side steps and swings his sword in an upwards arc. The front third of the gun goes flying as the electrified blade cuts through it like butter. He follows through on the momentum of the swing by twirling forward and slicing through the ☌⍀⟒☌’s thick throat. 

Yennefer is at the computers, frantically trying to stop the wipe. The other ☌⍀⟒☌ raises their gun with it aimed at her back. Geralt pulls back his arm and throws his sword with deadly accuracy. The blade pierces through the largest of the ☌⍀⟒☌’s thirteen eyes and skewers their brain.

Pankratz sobs and runs for the door, but Yennefer raises her gun and fires. The bullet rips through his leg and he screams as he collapses. Geralt stalks over, ripping his sword free of the ☌⍀⟒☌’s skull. He shoves Pankratz over with the toe of his boot, placing his foot firmly in the center of Jorgan Panktraz’s chest and listening to the satisfying creak of his ribs under Geralt’s weight.

“Geralt, I can’t get it to stop,” Yennefer calls to him, “It’s asking for an access code. Any chance you’ve got it in that Witchery head of yours?”

He closes his eyes, searching the network for access to the computers within this building, and finds a firewall. Geralt’s eyes pop open again and he narrows them at Pankratz beneath his boot. “You know about the Witcher network.” It isn’t a question. Pankratz is ashen and pale and the smell of urine permeates the air as the gray of his trousers darkens.

“I-I-I-”

“What’s the access code?” Geralt growls, placing the edge of his blade to the man’s throat. The metal hums, ready to release the building charge within it.

Pankratz glances at Jaskier’s body and his beady eyes harden, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“93% Geralt,” Yennefer informs him.

He presses his sword harder into the human’s skin, splitting it and making blood burble up along the incision. The smell of burning flesh fills the room as smoke starts to rise from the point of contact between the sword and Pankratz’s throat, “The  _ codes _ .”

“I have no idea what you’re on about!”

“96%”

“Last chance before I slit your fucking throat,” Geralt snarls, grabbing Pankratz’s hair and yanking his head back to expose his jugular, “Give us the fucking codes!”

“Fuck you!”

There’s a chime from the computer. The room is silent. The world is paused for just a moment as that chime echoes through the lab.

“The wipe is complete, Geralt,” Yennefer says quietly.

Pankratz laughs, his chapped lips splitting with mirth. Geralt roars and pulls the blade back to sink it into the human’s chest, piercing his heart. The laughter fills with blood, gurgling and spitting and splattering the fine suit. Pankratz tilts his head down to look at Geralt, a bloody grin baring red teeth, “You’re never getting that fucking little android back, you  _ mutant.  _ It’s dead. Good riddance.” His dying breath rattles in his chest and Pankratz goes limp, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

For a few moments, all they can hear is their own loud breathing in the room and the hum of machinery. Geralt doesn’t look away from Pankratz’s corpse, not wanting to see the empty shell that remains of Jaskier on the floor behind him. Yennefer’s light footsteps walk over and she gently peels his fingers from his blade, urging him to his feet and wrapping her arms around him.

“I’m sorry, Geralt,” she murmurs, “I know how much it-  _ he _ meant to you.”

“It’s stupid,” Geralt shakes his head, “He shouldn’t have. I’ve only known him for three days.”

“And yet you decided to fix him yourself and give him access to Roach to back his files up onto.”

“I didn’t  _ give him access _ , I told him not to touch her and he still-” Geralt stops talking abruptly and Yennefer looks up at him curiously.

“What is it?”

“What did you say? About him and Roach?”

She looks confused, “I said you decided to give him access to Roach to back up his files.” As she speaks, realization dawns on her as well and they both look over at Jaskier’s body, matching grins on their faces.

* * *

INITIALIZING STARTUP :

(1) OUTPUT_FORMAT(“J4SK13R-ai”, “J4SK13R-os”)

(2) OUTPUT_ARCH (cpu)

(3) ENTRY(_start)

(4) MEMORY {

(5) ROM (rx) : ORIGIN = R04C1-1, LENGTH = 64k

(6) RAM (rwx) : ORIGIN = J00L14N, LENGTH = 16k

}

(7) SECTIONS {

(8)  .reset : {

(9) *startup.o (.text) /* startup code (J4SK13R vectors and reset handler) */

(10) = align(0x4) ;

(11) } >ROM

(12) .ramvect : { /* used for vectors remapped to RAM * /

__ram_start = . ;

(13)  = 0X40;

(14) } >RAM

(15) .fastcode : { /* used for code executed from RAM and copied from ROM */

(16) __fastcode_load = LOADJ4SK13R (.fastcode);

__fastcode_start = . ;

INITIALIZATION COMPLETE

BEGIN STARTUP

* * *

Geralt watches, his heart in his throat, as the blue light circles around Jaskier’s power button on his neck. They won’t know if the data transfer was successful until the startup process is complete. Jaskier, being the smart droid that he is, had backed up not only his memory files but also his entire harddrive to Roach. Meaning his AI and his OS and all of his firmware was able to be recovered as well.

Jaskier starts running test cycles, part of his startup, and Yennefer jumps slightly beside him as they watch each metal plate along Jaskier’s body move individually. His faceplates then move in tandem as they cycle through several expressions, while his arms and legs twitch at the joints to ensure that they’re functional. The LEDs along his body light up in a faint blue glow. Finally, his mouth opens and the tinkling chime of the Continent Intergalactic jingle plays from the speaker at the back of his throat. 

Yennefer grabs Geralt’s hand as Jaskier’s eyes open and the android turns his head to peer at them, one iris electric blue and the other neon green. Geralt had installed the replacement optic component while Jaskier was still shut down, and he clenches his jaw as he watches the lenses zoom to test them. Jaskier opens his mouth and Geralt holds his breath.

“What the fuck are you doing all the way over there, Geralt?”

His breath escapes him in a solid whoosh as Geralt pulls free of Yennefer’s hand and dashes to Jaskier’s side, sweeping the android’s cool body up into a tight hug. “Oh!” Jaskier is stiff and unyielding at first, until his shoulders lower and he tentatively wraps his arms around Geralt as well. “This is nice.”

“Gods, don’t  _ ever _ do that shit again, you hear me?” Geralt growls, his face pressed to Jaskier’s synthetic hair. How did he make it so soft and feel so realistic? Geralt could almost be fooled into thinking it’s genuine, if it weren’t for the faintly plastic smell of it.

Jaskier blinks against Geralt’s shoulder before he laughs, “Yeah, alright. I’ll do my very best to make sure I don’t get kidnapped and wiped again, love.” He stiffens up slightly, freezing in place from the pet name that slipped through his lips.

Geralt pulls back to look down at Jaskier, a nervous expression pulling at the android’s faceplates. He doesn’t say anything, but moves one hand to cup the back of Jaskier’s head as he crushes their lips together, warm skin against cold metal. Jaskier’s hands fly up to Geralt’s shoulders, but he doesn’t push the Witcher away as he melts into the kiss. The small places of his lips shifting smoothly to emulate those of a biological creature.

When Geralt pulls away, Jaskier looks a bit dazed and asks faintly, “What was that for?”

“You’re so fucking stupid considering that you’re a computer,” Geralt murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips as he presses their foreheads together, “I  _ like _ you, Jask. And I believe you asked for one, once everything was over.”

“Oh,” Jaskier blinks in surprise before blinking again, “I’ve got two eyes again!”

“That’s what you decide to focus on?”

“Well, I mean, I called you ‘love’, Geralt. I don’t know what more you want from me.”

“Maybe something that continues in the privacy of a bedroom.” Roach whistles, but they ignore it as they look at each other with hooded eyes and teasing grins.

“I’m not compatible with that functionality.”

“We’ll get you an upgrade.”

“Mm, a big one?”

“Will you two shut the fuck up?” Yennefer scowls, looking at the screen of Geralt’s computer, “We’ve got a fucking problem.”

Geralt frowns, pulling away from Jaskier to wander over with the android on his heels. They peer over Yennefer’s shoulders at the screen, a news cast playing and being translated to and dubbed in Common.

_ “...this human man and woman are now fugitives and wanted persons by Oxenfurt Enterprises, Pankratz Intergalactic, and Continent Intergalactic. A reward of ten million units has been put out for their capture, along with the recovery of the stolen J4SK13R android.” _

They all nervously look at each other before Geralt groans with a scowl, dropping his head back to glare irritably at the ceiling.

_ “Fuck.” _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [screwthepurplegiraffe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/screwthepurplegiraffe/pseuds/screwthepurplegiraffe) for the wonderful idea of making Jaskier a vocaloid and also educating me on vocaloids in general. :)
> 
> This fic is dedicated to all you robot-fuckers out there.
> 
> I do not give permission for my work to be shared or reposted to any other website other than as a weblink to this Archive of Our Own URL with credit given to me.


End file.
